Horny
by Swiper. No swiping
Summary: Hey, whatever gets you off.


This is not a tale of morality. This is not a tale of love, either. This is a tale of liberation. This is a story about a transformation.

This is a confession.

So I'd like to start by saying: I do know where Fox McCloud is.

He wouldn't stop screaming at me. He flipped the kitchen table over and destroyed all the dishes and he wouldn't stop screaming. So I had to hit him over the head. With the fire extinguisher. I had to, you see. Because he wouldn't stop screaming. I had to make him shut up. So I did it with the fire extinguisher to the back of his head. Then I kept hitting him until he didn't have a head anymore. Let me tell you, it wasn't easy work by any stretch of the imagination. Swinging that fire extinguisher around was a good workout. And there was a lot of blood. An awful lot of blood. Had to mop it up before it stained the linoleum. Put the body in the bathtub and let it finish bleeding. Then I wrapped it in a tarp. Stuck it in that new parking garage they've been working on close to downtown. There's a huge cement pillar sitting in the middle of the structure. Fox's body is inside of that. I pushed it down until it sank into the cement and nobody would be the wiser. Nobody is the wiser.

But enough about that. It's not really important.  
Let me tell you about my new vibrator.

The thing is ingenious. Really. Funny little piece of ribbed plastic with a USB-cord connected to it. You plug it into your computer and hook it up to your music player, and the damn thing actually vibrates to the beat of the song. I can't tell you how many times I've used it in the past day alone.

Sexual technology astounds me. How much work people put into getting off. On Cerinia we had nothing like this. Just regular sex. And we wouldn't even do it that often, contrary to what you may have read elsewhere. Sex was about as regular as it got. Just a guy and a girl and the guy would hump the girl until he shot off in her and the girl would just take it. It was antiquated, but it was glorious.

That's why Corneria was such a culture shock. Girls advertised in the newspaper, each with a name and a phone number. Girls, girls, girls. All of them promise you a good time. Sheena is a naughty, naughty lizard with thighs that can crush your head and a tongue that won't quit. Mrs. Piggy is a glamourous, big busty wonder-woman who guarantees you the freshest in fat pussy you can buy from the paper.

There are clubs advertised too. Clubs for the curious male who can experience a "safe space" where he can feel comfortable with himself and his sexuality as he sucks dick. Clubs for those who love to be tied up and whipped by a numerous array of leather-clad hostesses, who want to experience the limits of the flesh, the agonies and the pleasures of being out of control.

So I went to one.

I told you: this is a confession. A story about liberation. A story about transformation.

This was even way back when I was still Krystal. Everybody knew who I was. Nobody made eye-contact with me. Not even the big dog playing salesman outside the club. Not even the young rabbit waitress who was all dressed up with nowhere to go.

She didn't even look at me when I said to her: Hey sugar. What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?

She blushed, kind of. Well, it was hard to tell. She looked like she would've blushed. She said: I work here.

So I put my hand on her hand and I said: Do you play here as well?

I had never done it with a girl before. Ever since Fox pointed out those homosexual parades as they rolled through downtown, I'd always tried to figure out how two girls got around to fucking. Best thing I could come up with was mutual masturbation, but I always had a hunch there had to be something more.

Fox didn't know either. Dykes disgusted him. He was kind of a woman hater. He didn't think we were useful for much other than cooking, cleaning, and fucking. Also he was terrible in bed. And look, I'm not even used to much, coming from such a sexually oppressed planet as I have. But by bad I mean I could've easily have been his blow-up doll. He barely even noticed I was there. His idea of foreplay was kissing with tongue.

I'd thought about it, though. Especially in the shower. I finally convinced Fox he needed a shower with a detachable head. I forget how I did it. He was terrible at hygiene, too. Barely showered. Barely brushed his teeth. His body reeked, especially because he never washed that fucking bandana he always wore.

The bunny barmaid pulled her hand away. Turned her cute little tail and fled. Bunnies are too skittish. Stereotypes are only funny when they're true.

The thing with these clubs is that you have to go to the front desk and register to actually get any. There are lots of people who are looking for doms or subs. You can even go to a dance floor and try to pick people out, but on occasion doms just take their subs there in order to embarrass them. Hey, whatever gets you off.

So I went and registered. The kid who was standing there was a harrassed-looking red fox. He had a pretty unfortunate face. He also looked way too young to be working here. I'd say he was probably about 16.

And I said: Hey kid, isn't it past your bedtime?

And he said: Lady, my bedtime isn't until after I clean up all the back rooms.

Ouch, I said, pretending to sympathize with him. I was going to be indecent with him, flash him a little bit of titty, but I decided not to. He had a pretty unfortunate face.

Can I see the list? I asked.

And he said: Yeah. Don't let anyone know though. I'm not supposed to be working the front. My boss would be up here, but he's currently busy shooting smack in his private office.

The printer ejaculated a fresh sheet of paper and he stuck it to a clipboard, handing it to me. Here you are, he said. You pick anyone you like.

Scanning the list. I hadn't really come here with anything specific in mind: just the guarantee of an experience I wouldn't get anywhere else. I was bored and horny and curious.

That's eventually what brought me to you.

But not tonight. Tonight I ended up tied to a cross, while a rhino in a leather harness whipped me with a switch. If you're wondering, he also had a soul patch and wore a police hat and looked pretty gay. He could've been whipping me out of distaste, for all I know. Could've wanted a man instead.

It's the fags you have to look out for. Fags hate women. Even fags in denial hate women. Those ones will beat you within an inch of your life. Rape you. Because they hate themselves so much, so by extension they hate you as well.

Fox probably was a fag. He always seemed content to just work on his own body in the gym and then masturbate in the showers afterward. It's so funny when people think you have no idea. Anyway, I never asked him if he sucked dick or not. Nor did I accuse him. Wasn't particularly my style. I put him out of his misery, instead.

It's not that I didn't love Fox, you see. I loved Fox McCloud, the mercenary. The hero. The prodigy pilot who singlehandedly destroyed an entire invading army. The idea of Fox McCloud turned me on. Hard-style.

But once the cameras weren't turned on us, he fell apart. He was no longer the sweet, romantic guy I thought he was. He was just another angry little kid in a man's body, who couldn't possibly understand or accept that other people had feelings. Everything had to be about him.

Even when we fucked, you could tell that he just didn't care about who he was fucking. All he wanted was to fuck himself. That's how fucking self-obsessed he was.

Why did I stay with him, then? I wanted to. I wanted Fox McCloud to be Fox McCloud, not the upsetting little cocksucker he wanted to be. I tried really hard to push him in that direction where he could actually make something with himself, but instead he just withdrew further into himself. He was beyond help.

I had everything he had. I'm a fox. I had the tragic background. I could fly an Arwing like any other motherfucker on the Star Fox team. I had a sexy body. And I could beat the shit out of any fucker who tried to cross me. Hell, I even had psychic powers, which was something Fox didn't have.

I was more Fox McCloud than he was. So that's why I had to kill him. Among other reasons.

But like I said, that's not important right now. What is important is me getting tortured by this rhinoceros. The fox kid was kind enough to let me strip myself, and then he was kind enough to strap me to the cross. Didn't even get a boner, or any kind of shady thoughts. Hope he was a fag, though. I don't think any self-respecting girl could take a dicking from him and look at that face the entire time. All the best for him and his adventures in taking it up the ass doggy style.

It was intense, to say the least. The straps dug into my flesh, which sounds painful but is actually surprisingly exquisite. The deprivation of movement. The sensory overload of being crucified. I shivered and squirmed even before the rhino showed up.

Epiphanies always come at inconvenient times, you know. If there is a God up there he is a sadistic bastard who loves the taste of irony. Strapped up to that cross, looking at the nude, incredibly ripped body of the rhinoceros standing in front of me, I realized I didn't want this anymore.

Not only did I not want to get tortured anymore, I didn't want this body anymore.

I wanted that. I wanted to be that.

Staring at his sizeable erection I said: I want that.

He licked his lips, looking kind of mystified. And he said: Where do you want it baby?

And I said: No, I want that.

But where do you want it first, babe? I can put it anywhere you want it.

But he didn't get it. I was nice. I let him get off then made him untie me. Least I could do. My skin was sore for days afterward and it didn't particularly make me feel sexy, but masochism was at least worth a try. Maybe with you I'd get off. We could try it sometime. Either one of us could do it: I could hit you, you could hit me. If you're into that, you know. Hey, whatever gets you off.

I guess the idea was a little strange for some people, getting a full body dye job like I did. Katt Monroe did it. Falco even did it, not that I mean to burst your bubble that he could actually be that shade of blue. Those were the only time I'd ever caught wind of Lylatians undergoing such procedures. Cosmetic surgery is another alien concept to me, alien to Cerinia. The only cosmetic surgery we ever did was in the event of extreme emergencies, like fires or other related accidents. That and tattoos, which I couldn't get the dye to cover. Those things are literally carved into me. Too bad we didn't have the ink gun in Cerinia. That thing would've come in handy, instead of having to be chained in a cave, next to a constant fire for three days while they hammered an inked-up chisel through my skin.

Brown was a good color, though. You could say I was tired of getting unwarranted attention. There weren't any other blue foxes on Corneria. At least, none that I'd seen. I stuck out like a fresh corpse in a river. Every time I went out people would just stare at me, knowing who I was. Brown was a good color. Lots of foxes were brown. Others were silver or red, but I needed to be brown. Because he was brown.

I went and bought a razor. And bleach. He always had that fucking mohawk. Supposed to make him look tough but just ended up being a faggy fashion statement. The bleach stung my hair a little but it was surprisingly not too difficult to shave my hair down like he kept it. The hard part was getting it to be that pure white like he kept it.

You'd think I would've thrown out his pictures, don't you. Feeling guilty and all. But I kept them. I needed them for inspiration.

This is a confession. A tell-all, if you will.

He was never half the Fox McCloud I am.


End file.
